Sunday, 6 August 2017

African diaries, part 2: sand dunes

The
main, if not the only reason I had chosen this trip was the Okavango
Delta. As always, Attenborough is to blame, because those fabulous
pictures of the delta made an indelible impression, and for many
years I had been resentfully telling myself: “Well, this is surely
one place you will never see”. So even though I had read the
itinerary and the guidebook, the delta was the projected highlight
for me, and everything else was a bonus. Sand dunes: fine, I have
seen a sand dune in France, yes, it was huge. Game
reserve: fine, I have spent a whole week in the Kruger park. Victoria
Falls: nice, like Niagara, just bigger. But the Delta – I
hadn't seen anything like that.

So
when Anton said that the Namibian sand dunes had been his dream for
ten years, I was surprised, not to say perplexed.

But
let me relate it in correct order. We were picked up at our hotel at
Windhoek by the same driver who had picked us up from the airport the
day before. It turned out that he would just transport us, and three
other travellers, to the meeting place with the rest of the group and
the guide, 350 km south-west. The rest of the group – by
serendipity or by design, a mix of Swedes and
Danes - had already been travelling together for a week, driving all
the way up from Cape Town through Kalahari desert.

The
road from Windhoek was
good, and we had
two comfort stops at fuel stations that offered clean, nice
facilities with toilet paper. Public toilets have always been a
yardstick for me, and the toilets on the way from Windhoek made me
feel safe. You could
even get decent coffee. We stopped for a
picnic lunch at a scenic spot, but otherwise no sights were pointed
out, and we were at Sesriem
camp some time in the afternoon – I had
no clock, and for the coming weeks I lived outside linear time,
measuring indefinite chunks between getting up – lunch – dinner –
going to bed, which was just what my tired mind needed. I lost count
of days; no dates, no days of the week, just Day 1, Day 2 and so on
of the trip.

But:
back to our first camp. We were as yet
uninitiated in the routine and hadn't seen the huge truck that would
be more or less our home for the next two weeks.

The other travellers
were pitching tents. Everything was happening very fast because we
were going to climb a dune to admire the sunset. I
hardly had time to get
my bearings. I am not a very good climber,
and in the first place, I hate making people wait for me, so as
everybody ran up easily on the sliding sand, I
just told them to
go ahead, I would tackle the effing dune at
my own pace. Dumi, our guide, helpfully
suggested that for each of us, wherever we got to was the top. I will
remember these words of
wisdom in other life situations as well. With
hills, mountains, rocks and, apparently, dunes, every time you think
you are there, you just
find another
hill, another rock, another dune above. That's me, climbing the dune. Looking at this picture, I feel insignificant.

I missed the sunset, but who cares. It was pretty. I found my way
down.

Back
at the camp, we had a great meal from the braai, bringing back
memories of South Africa, and suddenly it
got very cold. The trip notes had warned
about cold, and I was glad I had listened, because frankly it felt
ridiculous packing a winter jacket when going to Africa. Our fellow
travellers confirmed that some nights it had been below zero.

I
was exhausted, physically, yes, but also emotionally. Here I was,
alone in a tent, in African desert. Last time I had been in a tent
was forty-five years ago when I went to an archeological dig. I had a
camp bed, a mattress and a sleeping bag. I felt overwhelmed. Anton
had generously given me his headtorch (I had discovered that my old
one was broken the day before I left home). I put on three layers of
clothes and crawled into the sleeping bag. Within five minutes, I was
asleep. When I had to go out around midnight, a crescent moon lay
leisurely on its back, and first then I felt I was where I wanted to
be.

Flashforward: it took me several days to establish a routine for the
night. One night, when I needed to go out, I couldn't find the torch
and panicked, because it was pitch dark. Then I remembered that I had
a torch in my phone, and I knew where my phone was, in the deepest
pocket of my backpack. I found the backpack, I found the phone, I
switched it on, I switched on the torch. After that, every night as I
went to bed, I would lay out on a kerchief, in a strict order: clock,
torch, glasses. Clock, torch, glasses.

The order was to sit in the bus at 5.45 because we had to drive
an hour to some very special dune that we would climb to see the
sunrise. I wonder what local people think about tourists' obsession
with sunrises and sunsets. When we lived in San Diego we enjoyed our
private sunsets every night for two years and never got tired of
them. But otherwise, unless you live by the ocean – or in a desert
– you rarely have a chance to watch sunsets, which makes them
special. And undeniably, a sunrise over sand dunes is spectacular.

So,
this particular Dune 45, appropriately called because it is 45 km
from the camp, is designated for tourists to climb, as, the guidebook
informs, it is the most accessible. Dumi had said that yesterday's
climb was “easy” so I prepared to skip this one, but it was too
tempting. Again, I let the fittest pass me and climbed in my tempo.
This was truly a sand dune, just sand with a narrow ridge. Your feet
sank in the sand, and I was scared to lose balance. (Anton said
afterwards that, unlike a snow slope, in sand you would just fall and
stop). I was going to give up every now and then, but persisted, and
although I never made it to the top, the reward of the sunrise –
not to mention breakfast on return – was great.

Anton
was our designated photographer, so all pictures reflect his point of
view. Here is our well deserved after-dune coffee. Note that we are in Africa, wearing winter clothes.

Another
ten kilometres further into the dunes, and Dumi promised “an easy,
flat walk, maybe with some small dunes” that I was looking forward
to, but “easy and flat” is of course relative, as are “small
dunes”. Doubtless, as compared to Dune 45, they were just tiny
hills.

Eventually the group split, and the brave ones went to climb a
REAL dune (second highest in the world!), while Kory and I and some
others were told to walk around the dune. Now, “around” is
also relative, and finally I realised that there would be a lot more
climbing involved, and even the perspective of one of the most iconic
views in Namibia, Deadvlei, wasn't tempting enough. I imagined having
a heart attack halfway and decided to be sensible. It had also got very, very hot. I walked to the
shuttle station and caught a ride back to our bus. Again, I had no
idea what the time was and had no one to ask. I sat in the shade with
a glorious view of the toilet, with oryx walking around,

until my travel companions started
returning – by shuttle as well, since no one had the stamina to
walk back. Anton was blissful and said that he was ready to go home.
I am sorry I missed Deadvlei as it was apparently stunning.

After
a quick lunch by the bus, we went almost all the way back to the
camp, watching all these magnificent dunes, now in full sunshine. We
went to see a canyon which was amazing, but of course in a canyon you
go down first and then have to climb up; however, it turned out I am
a better canyon-climber than dune-climber.

Still I was dead tired by
the time we were back in camp. I put the mattress on the floor and
lay with my feet up on the bed for a while. But it was good tiredness, and I was
soon full of vigour again, and I even helped with preparing dinner.
Dumi had said that the trip was “with full service”, but they wouldn't mind if we wanted to help. As a side comment, the food was fabulous all the way through.

Back
in the dark solitude of my tent, I had some deep philosophical
reflections. Travel is not egoistic. By travelling and feeling happy
we increase the general amount of happiness in the world and make it
a better place. We share our happiness with other people – as I am
doing now. But maybe it is a wrong way to think about it.